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Walls Come Crashing Down
++ Kolkular ++ Arcee enters from Kaon proper, to the southeast. Feint enters from Kaon proper, to the southeast. Blast Off sits inside a small, cramped cell in the fortress of Kolkular. His is one of many cells filled with prisoners awaiting their fate as decided by Sentinel or the Senate. The dead mech who had commited suicide across the aisle from the Combaticon is just now being cleaned out, fianlly. And Blast Off stares blankly as two guards take the body out and make a half-hearted effort at cleaning up the mess. He still envies the dead mech, but it's not like he can follow suite even if he wanted. His hands are tied- literally- with an inhibitor that prevents transformation. He doesn't move, just stares straight ahead at the activity. Because if he moved, if he looked at the walls that surround him, if he acknowledged them in any way- he'd be admitting that he's trapped... and he's afraid those walls are closing in. If they are- he doesn't want to know. Arcee is somewhere else in the building, probably waiting in the administrative section. She's come here not to see Blast Off, but to see Feint. Feint is definitely not high on her list of mechs or femmes she wants to see, but she feels at least an obligation to mention...something that came up during the mission in Kaon, to her. "Must I?" Feint is standing next to Senator Halogen within one of the government offices of Kolkular - it's not just a prison (that's the lower level); there are also places where the Senators and other officials come to seek Sentinel Prime on matters of the state. "I'm afraid so," says Halogen; tall and powerful he is striking, not just for his green and purple constructicon colors, but for the fact that the upper half of his face is gathered into a single round purple optic. No, not an empurata victim - just an unusual design. "There will be times when it is necessary to speak to prisoners or other criminals for the good of your polity." "And interrogations?" Feint asks innocently enough. She's emblazoned with the same sort of Senate emblem Arcee once wore. Her face is not exposed today; it's a flat black visor, almost Cobra Commander-like. "That too. You musn't be afraid to get your hands dirty, Feint. You know better than almost the entire Senate about what it means to truly -labor-. That makes you a better fit for the job than any of them." The two continue to walk down the halls, Feint almost dwarfed by Halogen as they head towards the prisons, coming nearer to Arcee. Arcee overhears the approaching voices, and when they sound near enough, she steps out into the hallway to greet them. "Senator Halogen, sir...and greetings, Feint," she says with a curt nod. She has *zero* idea what Feint's doing with the Senate now -- last she heard, she was an outlier, but in this age most anything's possible. Down in the cells, in the cell beside the suicide victim's cell, a mech starts pestering Blast Off. "Heyyy mech. You do what I tell you, an' you won't get JUMPED later on. Sound like a deal?" He grins coldly. Blast Off knows none of this. He doesn't even know that it was Arcee posing as Shutterfly who set the trap that caught him. The one who *betrayed* him, if you were to ask him. The shuttleformer remains completely silent, watching as the guards finish and proceed off with the body, whose blank, unsseing optics stare for a moment right back at his own before being moved down the corridor. Blast off doesn't watch them go. Where did he go wrong? How did this happen? Well.... trust. Trust is how this happened. He's been far too trusting, even though as a former Primal Vanguard he really should have known better. He trusted, he tried to get *close* to people despite all the voices in his head telling him letting people get close only gets one hurt. It's time he ought to start listening to those voices. Then...suddenly, there's ...well, a voice. It's speaking to him. ....Wait, that's most definitely NOT coming from his head. He frowns under the faceplate, and IGNORES the voice. Maybe it'll go away. It's not hard to pick up that Arcee doesn't like her (or at least only tolerates her), so she sort of shrinks back near Halogen and looks at the floor. "Ah, Arcee! I remember you - Proteus' attache? I heard you had a change of function - are you enjoying your new job?" Halogen asks warmly. He is refreshingly unpretentious. "I read the reports about you bringing in that rogue Vanguard soldier. Good work, ma'am. We're on our way to speak to him as a matter of fact, would you care to join us?" "Thank you, and certainly," Arcee responds politely. "Blast Off isn't aware that I was the one responsible for his apprehension, and...I'd like to keep it that way, sir," she tells Senator Halogen as she walks alongside them. "But yes, my new work with Elita-One and the police force has been more suited to where I would like to take my career." As she speaks, Arcee's gaze temporarily goes over toward Feint inquisitively. She does have a thing or two to tell the other femme, and she's hoping she'll have the opportunity to do so without her slinking away post-Blast Off visit. Meanwhile, down in the cells... "C'mon, mech. You can't do this alone. I got contacts. I can get you in with the prison gang. You don't wanna be on the wrong side a'them, I can tell you that right now. Or you'll end up like Oilspill there." Blast Off frowns again, and this time his optic ridges furrow slightly. "Go away. I can handle myself." He's a slaggin' Combaticon, for Primus' sake, and he's tired of everyone acting like he needs their HELP all the time or something!!! Of course, though... another little voice in his head reminds him that it's that attitude that ...well... *might possibly be a /teeny-tiny/ bit responsible* for landing him here in the first place. "Excellent," Halogen appraises, happy with Arcee's response. "And I very well understand. Mum's the word on our incarcerated colonist then." He places a hand on Feint's shoulder. "I'm not certain if you've met Feint; she's a bit shy. I'm trying to help her get over that, it won't do if I get my spark snuffed and she has to take my place on the senate floor. She'll need to be bold as a turbolion to get anything done with those complacent old cronies." He continues to walk towards the lift leading down to the prison center. "We've met," Feint says quietly, trying not to draw any potential ire from Arcee. "Yes, we have," Arcee says with a grin that says she's trying. She really is trying. The feeling might not reach her spark, but in the spirit of getting important work done, she IS trying. "A while ago, and since that time, it looks like the situation has improved. Congratulations, Feint." Back in the celly-cell-cells... "Don't be a fool, you pristine proto-peacock," the other prisoner exclaims. "You WANT to be in on a gang; you cannot go it alone in a place like this, cause the microsecond you cross a gang member, the whole place WILL jump you an' take you apart! Think it over, cause you don't look at stupid as you're soundin' right now." Blast Off blinks, and this time he does finally *deign* to turn his head and look at the mech addressing him. The Combaticon stares a moment, violet optics casting a dim light. Unfortunately, the guy has a point. Before at least, he was stuck in prison with his team, and they had each others' backs. Now.... he's all alone. *sigh* The story of his life. His gaze slowly drifts down to the corridor floor as he deliberates, then he looks up again a bit suspiciously. "And why do you care?" "Because," says the other prisoner, "A mech needs to know who they can count on in this place, who's got their back. They have massive fights in here with a lotta casualties...pretty often. Those who don't join up...well, they're on their own, and they typically get killed first." "Thank you," Feint whispers at the general speaking level of a pink and yellow cartoon pony. Halogen stops where he is, touching the side of his head, and sighs autibly. "Feint, go ahead and go down without me, I'll be with you shortly. They want me to sign over some paperwork to authorize and Animatronian search party in Blaster City. Of all the places to go! They're idiots, all of them. Don't worry, the guards will keep you safe down there, and I'm certain you can ... handle things, if it gets out of control." Feint looks nervously at Arcee as she walks into the lift, keeping her head down. She may have a Senate emblem but her every moment screams 'disposable'. Blast Off considers this and, again, it sounds about right, unfortunately. Welcome to being a Jailbird 101. The shuttle sighs. He experiences a small wave of dread, once more wondering what awaits him THIS time. Actually, at this point death would be preferable than what happened before- the spark extraction and mind imprisonment. He... he just can't even do that. He can't even *think* about it. Still.... being torn apart by a mob isn't his idea of a great time either. He shoves all that aside and lifts his head up in a more haughty manner. "And what do I have to do in order to get *in* on this *gang*?" Arcee watches Halogen for a moment, then heads into the lift with Feint. "Nice seeing you again, sir," she tells him politely, as the doors close. Then, she glances over at Feint. "Listen, something weird happened in Kaon. To your...to Blurr," she explains. "He played a very pivotal role in apprehending Blast Off. But I got a strange correspondence when I was undercover. I wanted you to know about it, because...well, there's not a lot I can do about it personally, but it can't possibly bode well. It was from someone named 'Cipher', and he requested that I let him know if Blurr acted 'out of line'. Sounded highly suspicious. I had a friend from the Hall of Records run a check on his name, and it seems he's an IAA official whos predecessor 'died in a mysterious accident'. If that isn't suspicious, then I don't know what is. Just thought you should know." "Just swear allegience to the gang-boss, do the occasional 'favor' -- VERY occasional," the prisoner explains to Blast Off, "And wear the brand. Easy. The other gangs won't touch you. You'll have protection." Blast Off's question is immediate and a little testy. "What KIND of favor?!?" Oh, there are all KINDS of prison favors he can think of, and... #NOPE NOPE NOPE. Cipher. That name rankles her in every possible way. "I know that name." Feint vents with finality, her little wings rising over her shoulders like the hackles of an angry dog. "Believe me, I know, and now that I have this position I can finally -do- something about it. Ever since Blurr bought my freedom and took me in I have watched his handlers systematically ruin him. They damaged his mind, changing things here, erasing things there, all to have complete control over him, to make him nothing more than a show drone to increase their fortunes!" Feint's voice takes on a steelly intensity and it gets louder. -There's- that fire Halogen was talking about her getting. "They've threatened me, they've threatened him, they hire mercenaries like Quantum to kill anyone that gets in their way -- it's as if he has two faces now and one of them is being shaped into a killer!" "Cipher is to blame for this, and no one is doing -anything- about it because it's all been approved from powers higher than me." She pauses. "That -were- higher than me. All I ever wanted to do was repay him for saving my life. I... I didn't know what I'd be caught up in." "Like...like if someone needs to 'disappear'. Someone needs to get taken out. That sorta thing," the prisoner explains. "Wow, you're kinda new to this, aren't you?? Well listen, the boss understands newbies. If you don't think you can take someone out, we can send a few helpers to make sure the job gets done. That's no problem!" Apparently the gang member is explaining this to show Blast Off he doesn't have much to worry about...? Yeah, something like that... Back in the lift, Arcee nods sympathetically. "Before he met you, I was caught up in this, too. I pulled him out of the IAA buildings in a drugged up state. They're definitely messing around with him. What can be done about it?? ...I don't know. I really don't. The mechs doing this have their own agenda, and they're extremely powerful and influential." She seems to have a little more sympathy, slightly more 'slack' on Feint, since seeing her emotions come through. So she's got some spitfire, and she isn't just a meek little muppet after all! Arcee's somewhat impressed. "You're lucky you're not caught up in this," Feint says simply. "Blurr's creator tried to have me killed, and as for the mech himself... he has his moments of sweetness, but... he's only fifteen years old. He thinks a conjunx endura is a playmate to keep him from being bored when toys and games aren't enough." You got really, REALLY lucky. The lift is almost to the prison levels. There are warning lights coming up on the display above the door. Blast Off gives the other prisoner a haughty, almost insulted look. Newbie? "I am..." Bah, he doesn't have to explain himself to THIS guy. He's not new, he's suspicious. "If I aim to kill.... then my target is dead. End of discussion. I would not require "assistance." He might need a /weapon/ though.... He still hasn't decided on this. The shuttle doesn't want any part of it, but.... "Who is your Boss?" "Look...I know, he really, really does love you," Arcee says quietly. And then, the lift doors open, and she decides to shut her mouth for obvious privacy reasons. Also, she has no rejoinder for Feint's assessment of Blurr. DID she avoid a terrible situation?? She's left to consider it, for now. "His name's --" The prisoner suddenly looks alert, and apparently, he's attuned to this place so keenly that he can tell when someone's coming long before it's recognizably audible. "Someone's comin' up here," he says suddenly. "ALL PRISONERS STAND AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE RED CIRCLES ON THE WALL," comes the announcement over the loudspeakers. "IF YOU REFUSE TO COMPLY YOU WILL BE CONSIDERD HOSTILE AND DEALT WITH ACCORDINGLY." The lift opens into the bowels of Kaon, and... it horrible. Kaon's is considered 'the worst place to live on Cybertron' under the present rulership. The cells are dark, cramped, unpleasant, and the Enforcers here tend to -enjoy- what they do a little too much. Sentinel wants to make an impression: obedience to the law is not an option. He wants to make certain no one DARES step out of line. Feint knows to which cell she's going; a couple of big red-painted enforcers bow to her and Arcee and inform them about the dangers here and how they'll be watching over them. The littlest fembot of the pair summons all her courage. This place scares the bolts outo f her. Arcee isn't too thrilled to be here, either, but one thing's for sure -- she sure is glad that once this is over, she can turn around, get back on the lift and get the heck out of here. She's one of the few and the privileged who can do that. She accompanies Feint and the enforcers following their briefing. Blast Off isn't as fast on the draw as the other mech, mainly because he doesn't know the sights and sounds (and smells) of this place quite so ...intimately. Yet. He tesnes at his comment, however, and glances off to the side. That puts the wall back in his line of vision and he quickly stares straight ahead once more. He'll just have to stay very silent, very still, and hope they are not coming for HIM. Meanwhile, he does his practiced best to look as aloof and unaffected by all this as possible. SUDDENLY there is SHOUTING. The Combaticon blinks, then looks up in annoyance. He deliberates refusing to move. Indeed, he sits there as most of the prisoners do as told. He has NEVER liked being told what to do. But slowly, grudgingly, the shuttleformer also stands. There are times to fight, and times to blend in. If they're not here for him, blending in is probably the wise choice. He lets out a small huff and does as told, hating /every second/ of it. It makes his metal skin *crawl*. A short ultramarine and black flying type is standing at Blast Off's cell. She's marked with a Senate badge, and her visored face is tilted towards the Combaticon. "You may remove your hands, Blast Off. I'm here to speak with you concerning your recent activities." She speaks softly and gently - she's hardly threatening to anyone. Arcee is also here, but she's apparently not here to interrogate Blast Off...she's just accompanying Feint for whatever reason. She gives Blast Off a sad, pitying look, as if to say, 'What a waste of a good mech'. Blast Off notices the Senate badge on Feint first, and his optics narrow considerably. The shuttleformer tenses again. Slag. They did come for him. He shoves down that fresh wave of panic, and puts on his best arrogant and unafraid look. He takes in the sight of this... this little thing. She looks oddly familiar, but he's not sure where.... He doesn't have long to think about that, because then- Arcee appears. It's like he gets hit with a semi-truck. The Combaticon's optics widen and his knee servos almost buckle out from under him in his shock. "ARCEE?" What the SLAG is she doing here?!? Arcee looks toward Blast Off sadly. "I heard you had been brought here, so I just had to see if it was true." She WAS kind of sad, it wasn't just a put-on act on her part. "I...I'm not really sure what to say, except...except I hope you can...cooperate, and answer to the charges, and...please cooperate, Blast Off, I don't want to see you locked up in here for a long time." Feint recalls Blast Off from a very long time ago, when she was rescued from Solvent. He seemed kind of... snooty. But then again, y'know, /high caste/. Kind of a given. "Likewise, I would ask that you please cooperate. I am here to ask you a few questions in the interest of all innocent citizens under the lawful guidance of Senate and Prime." Blast Off catches the sad look, and Arcee's Autobot badge, and her words... but they're all still kind of blending together in a bit of pink-swirled shock. His optics flicker and his head jerks back a little. So much for the aloof and unimpressed demeanor he was going for. "What... what are you doing here? Why..." He looks at her badge and frowns under his faceplate. "Why... are you wearing that still?" Then back to Feint. His attitude turns towards a chillier edge, especially as she yaps on about the "lawful guidance of the Senate and Prime." Oh Puh-lease. His stare down at her is disdainful but he remains fairly quiet. His voice is cold. "...I see." "And my question back to you would be...why are you still *not* wearing it?" Arcee asks. "I think we've probably followed different ideologies to get where we currently are, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm still upset that you're *here*." Feint listens to both, and centers herself, drawing her field in until it rests beneath her mesh instead of expanding outward. Though not visible to the nake optic, she instead casts a beam towards Blast Off, scanning him, and pushing her field around him to envelop him within it. She doesn't do anything to him - yet. "Mister Blast Off, would you please tell me why you abandoned your position with Senator Proteus?" Blast Off looks back at Arcee as her response moves through somehow sluggish processors. He mulls a response while still trying to get over his shock at seeing her again. The last time he saw her they were having a date at the opera... A date. An opera. Living the high life. All these things seem like they happened an eternity ago now. "How /could/ I, given all that we..." He stops himself before he says *saw*. That little femme is standing there, after all. As she speaks, he gazes down at her, trying to ascertain just who -and what- she is. "....People started trying to kill me. It made for a... hostile working environment." "Blast Off, please, I...I can't stress it enough, please cooperate and...and don't make things difficult, I know you're stubborn and not without good reason, but you're not in a position where it's going to help you right now to be difficult," Arcee says. She glances over at Feint, and considers on whether it would be better for her to remain here or to leave. Thinking Blast Off might get angry, defensive, and just start shutting down during the interrogation, Arcee decides it's probably best for her to wait in the administrative offices. She realizes Feint has a job to do, and she doesn't want to take away from that by distracting her subject negatively. "I'll come see you later, alright?" Arcee gives Blast Off a concerned look, then she exits, accompanied by one of the red-painted enforcers. "Can you tell me the details of what happened to you? I'm interested in truth, not in politics," Feint asks calmly. "I'll have to state all the formalities for legal reasons, but I'd just like to get to the bottom of this." Blast Off looks at Arcee, his usual aloof, arrogant *What the slag do you mean I'm stubborn*?! mixed in with some small relief at seeing her again, massive confusion over her being HERE right now, and... yes, stubborn pride at being told what to do. But as she heads off, he blurts out a quiet, "Wait..." before stopping himself. She's the only truly familiar face here, the only anywhere near *pleasant* face he's seen since he got here, and.... he doesn't want her to go. He'd at least like an explaination. Alas, she exits, leaving him with the other femme. Who... doesn't really even seem to HAVE a face. He stares down at her, debating sitting, but standing up to emphasis the height difference just seems the thing to do right now. He can keep looking down his nose at her this way. "Right. Because you believe in the "lawful guidance of the Senate and Prime"." Yes, that was (softly) sarcastic. "You're still as snooty as the day Solvent drug me into the Circle on a chain." Feint hopes this little bit of information jogs the Combaticon's mind. "Didn't I say I had to state all the formalities for legal reasons?" Blast Off blinks, his memory jogged with a jolt. "You!" He leans forward a little now, suddenly taking in the sight of this femme. "I...I wondered what happened to you, I even..." Then he stops, leaning right back again. "You... you went with... HIM." His voice grows a bit colder again. "That's it... I've seen you with Blurr. You... work with him now don't you?" His voice just grows more icy and suspicious with every word he speaks. This intrigues Feint greatly, because she'd wondered what Blurr was up to all those long hours away from home. Oh how it pays to work with Halogen. "I'm his conjunx endura, so I suppose that's a yes. You're still not answering my original question, but I had hoped you might relax if you recognized me." Blast Off staaares at her now. "...Conjunx endura?" Oh slag. Great. Just great. First Blurr, now his endura. What is this, how they get off or something? Tag team torment? Double your fun interrogating services? Then they both run out back somewhere and swap stories- and more?! This shuts him down cold, and he steps back to sit down on the bench sullenly. "Why should I? Blurr is a loose screw- not to mention a spy. If you're his endura, well.... why would I ever trust you either?" Arcee is, at the moment, off of the cellblock floor where Feint is interrogating Blast Off. She's returned to the administrative office of the prison, because she's decided that her presence there is just going to complicate things -- especially if Blast Off suddenly gets angry. Emotionally speaking, she could handle that, but she thinks it would be really disruptive to Feint's efforts. Feint folds her hands together in front of her. "Because I'm asking you nicely and I really do just want to get down to the truth of the matter. Do you remember that wonderful little 'mental health' laboratory that was on the news recently? I do. I remember the inside of it very well." Thank goodness for that black visor, perfect poker face; nevertheless there's a razor's edge of anger at the mention of the Institute. "There are things that have been done that I have no great love for, which is why I wanted to find out what your story truly is. Trust me when I say that they far, far more persuasive ways to get you to talk to them." Blast Off looks back sullenly. "I heard of it, yes. Just more corruption. But why should I tell you anything? I already told Blurr what I've been doing. Anything else I say will just be used against me. Because even if, by some small chance, you actually mean what you say.... the people that landed me here sure do not. They want me out of the way. I'm a thorn in their side, because I saw too much and questioned too much. Plus, I am a Combaticon, and Cybertronians never have liked Combatrons, have they? I'll never get a fair trial, will I?" He'd cross his arms, if only he could. "I've been taken in by House Halogen. I don't know if you're familiar with every Senator but he is the representative of this district so he has greater sway than the others due to being the host to this fortress," Feint explains. "We can be of mutual assistance to each other. I don't have the power of a Prime but there's got to be some way to make certain you are at least fairly tried. If you're from a colony world, you should have SOME kind of diplomatic rights that haven't been explored yet, or maybe, if you're military you could ask for a tribunal of your peers." All that book learnin' has paid off. "You say Blurr was in here asking you questions? What did he do, and what did he ask?" Wait, if they're 'tag teaming' Blast Off, why would she want to know this stuff? Shouldn't she know it already? Normally, Blast Off might very well be able to listen to such a reasonable response. Certainly, what she says to him *sounds* reasonable. But then again, so has everything else in his life lately, and look where it got him? He listens, he nods, he starts to trust, then SNAP! The trap is sprung on him. Because he believes in people, because he lets people get too close. All these friends and colleagues and once-upon-a-time girlfriends... where the slag are any of them right now? Oh wait, ONE of them just showed up, and she... she just walked off and left him here to rot, too! The Combaticon's anger is growing, a wellspring of all the frustration, nervousness, sense of betrayal, growing claustrophobia, fear of what he's facing now.... everything. It's all just... too much. He starts staring at the floor as she finishes, then snaps his head up to glare at her. "Such *excellent*, fine words. I'd clap... if only my hands weren't restrained. Now, are you *quite* done, or can I at least go back to sitting in some sort of peace and quiet again before they decide how to kill me?" Then he looks away, his face a mask all of it's own- a mask of cold, callous aloofness. "I tried to ask nicely but there are things I need to know, and you don't seem to comprehend the situation we're both in. Fine then; I'm going to have to -convince- you of my intent." And with that, the real interrogation begins. A thought suddenly pops into Blast Off's head that he's being too stubborn, and that this femme might actually want to help him. She's being /reasonable/, she's not hurting him, and it's almost as if -- yes, look at her, she's so small and sad and lost. She just wants help, don't you want to help her Blast Off? The suggestion is pushed gently into the Combaticon's mind, blending softly and casually into his own consciousness. Why, it might even seem like that suggestion was his own idea. Blast Off blinks as a thought comes in unbidden, like the tap of a pebble against a pane of glass. He sits, suddenly just a bit uncertain. He *is* a civilized mech, after all, and here's this quite reasonable sounding, small, sad femme. She just wants to *talk* to him, that's all. And he is... lonely. He wouldn't mind a little company, even if it's... IF IT's WITH BLURR's CONJUNX ENDURA. That snaps him right out of it. SLAG THIS, GLITCH! His somewhat unfocused look snaps back up and he turns to glare at her, not realizing yet that that was all courtesy her own unique talents. His pride and ego stir, and he fends it off- for now. "...Yes?" He asks curtly, not realizing she just answered his question. Feint increases the amount of false data being fed to the shuttlecraft. Let the madness begin. From Blast Off's point of view: A group of Enforcers suddenly storm into the hallway and Feint looks horrified and confused as the bear down on -her- and not Blast Off, brandishing blades and energon prods. One of them grabs her by the arm and hauls her off the floor as she screams. "We're onto you you little gutterglitch!" the one holding her growls. "You're tryin' to free him, aren't you?!" Feint struggles and pleads. "No! No I just wanted to know what was going on, I just wanted to save Blurr!" This isn't good enough, apparently, for the mech holding her. He slaps her so roughly it shatters her visors before sharply turning to Blast Off, overshadowing him. "Yeah, we know what you two little /friends/ are up to, Combati-slag, and we're gonna show you what happens to jetwash-huffing little freaks that don't tell us what we want to know." He presses the blade to the hollow of Feint's throat as she freezes in terror, sobbing. A sick grin passes his face. "Hope you like the show." From everyone else's point of view: Feint's just standing there in front of Blast Off, saying nothing. Unfortunately for Blast off, *this* is much easier for him to believe. The suspicious shuttleformer is used to the violence and mayhem of the battlefield, and has simply been waiting for it to appear here. And it's easy to believe that brutish thugs are coming to get him- get her- get anyone who isn't THEM. He jerks back, optics flickering in surprise. Still, there's something... odd here. He's... confused now. When the "Enforcers" slap the femme, Blast off's more "civilized", gentlemech side compels him to reach out just a little. "...Now WAIT a min..." His voice trails off, though, and he pulls back again. No. No, he's not DOING that again. He's not going to care. It's... it's not his business anyway. No, he'll... withdraw. He doesn't care. He just... will mind his own business, and not fall into... into that TRAP of worrying about anyone else except himself. "I don't... I don't care..." He starts shaking his head slightly, then stops in disgust at the look on that mech's face. Despite wanting to ignore it, it's still quite... revolting. That sick grin freezes his fuel lines. He sits there in his cell, and anyone from the outside would just see him looking slightly confused- reaching forward, then back again. What... is going on? From Blast Off's POV: "Oh you don't care, eh?" Goon #1 snarks. "Get in there. Make sure he watches this." The other two Enforcers, both of whom could block the cell's entrance by bulk alone, open Blast Off's cell. They lunge for him, grabbng for his arms and his head, to force him to look forward at Goon #1 and Feint. "Oh if you don't care, then you aren't gonna mind if we do this. Big bad Primal Vanguard can handle anything, right? Let's see how much he can take before he purges his tanks. Hey, -- gimme a hand with her, will ya?" Goon #4 nods, laughing like a hyena about to strike its prey. Goon #4 holds Feint's arms behind her back as they bring her forward, to position her right in front of - and directly over - Blast Off. He can see the terrified look on her face as Goon #1 begins his operation. Cue tasteful camera cut to Blast Off to avoid directly showing the violence being done, but Feint's screams will fill his ears as they begin flaying her directly over him, her innermost energon spilling everywhere. Everyone else's POV: Feint's still just standing there. This is getitng weird. Blast Off is still trying to mentally shake this all off- something is telling him not to believe everything he sees, this can't be real, and there are times he *thinks* he actually only sees a quiet corridor with a small figure just standing there. Then that ghostly image vanishes again, and his world is filled with grotesque violence. Even for a Primal Vanguard. That pebble on the pane of glass strikes hard this time, and shatters entirely as he sees those guards rush in to grab him. OH SLAG, THE WALLS ARE CLOSING IN NOW. And he's LOOKING RIGHT AT THEM. The shuttleformer jerks back now, slamming against the wall behind him as his arms raise up defensively. This hits far too many of his buttons- having his personal space violently intruded upon, grabbed, handled, and held down to watch a perversity of sick torture. "Get OFF ME!!!!" He starts flailing his arms and kicking his feet as if warding off attackers, then tenses and sits there quietly while making the occasional strangled noises. In his mind, he's still fighting and struggling against all this- though to no avail. "Slag it all let me /GO/! Let /HER/ go!" Then... then she begins to die- while he has to stare her in the face and watch the light in her optics blaze an eerie, awful glow, then start to fade as smoke begins to pour from her optics and mouth. Energon also pours: onto him. Inwardly every ounce of his being is screaming in revulsion, though he continues only to make a soft, strangled cry. "This isn't... this won't accomplish any... /Sss/top it! This is... /insanity/!" Blast Off's POV: Goon #1 pushes Feint's mutilated body up against Blast Off and moves her arms and legs in a sick puppet show. "Oh hey c'mon, give us a kiss loverboy! Kiss the corpsey shuttle!" Her dead-opticed face is banging uselessly against Blast Off's faceplate, her expression frozen in a death wail. Goon #2 and #3, holding Blast Off, are laughing uproariously at this. Goon #4 is wiping his hands off on a rag and reaching over to an as-of-yet unseen toolchest full of sharp pointy things that aren't very good for your health. "We went easy on you before, Combaticon!" one of them cries, the lights turning redder and redder, warping colors and distorting the Enforcers who are oozing with spilled fluids from their victim. "You hadda take the hard way! You could have just said something but now you're GONNA SUFFER!" Everyone else's POV: *elevator music* Arcee has absolutely no clue what's going on back there. She's reading the prison warden's owner's manual for a weapon known as a 'riot oppressor'. Blast Off spends his time... no, his *life* attempting to keep some semblence of *distance* between himself and others. It's a defensive mechanism he learned long ago... keep others at arm's length and you stay safe. You stay intact. Other people are generally confusing and annoying anyway, they hurt you when you try and get close, and the best way to deal with them is just not to get involved in the first place. It comes naturally to a space shuttle anyway- as one, you spend a lot of time out in the cosmos where you have nothing but literally *endless* space. Even the simple act of being on the planet's surface seems somewhat constricted and suffocating to Blast Off. Being UNDER the planet's surface: even worse. All these things are why he guards that sense of personal space- of distance- so vigilantly. Why he gets so huffy whenever someone intrudes it. Slag, he generally doesn't even like being touched, even if it's a friendly pat. That is NOTHING compared to this. He's never even experienced something like this- not this level. This has taken his need for space- for distance- and slammed everything filthy, everything violent, everything that is violatING- shattered every barrier- and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. The shuttle is trying somehow to hold onto some ounce of dignity, of self-respect and self-control, but even as he tries to withdraw and close down, his frame starts shaking. His arms still jerk and twist as he struggles against non-existant tormentors, turning his head, optics dimming since he can't quite stand the sight of .... of what is LEFT of Feint. And then they pull out these tools, and Blast Off... is afraid. "Let me ...GO..." He's still trying to sound dignified, cultured, hopefully maybe even a bit threatening- not /whining in fear/- but his voice might be slipping. He attempts to find some power, some even ground, even if it only post-mortem: "You... you will not get away with this.... my... my teammates will FIND you. They will make YOU suffer...!" Blast Off's POV: "Spill your struts or you go SLOWER than her!" Goon #1 snarls as #4 picks up a laser scalpel and ignitees it. Feint's body is left to slide partially off of Blast Off, smearing him with anything left of what was inside her. Goon #2 and #3 pin his arms stiffly behind his back while grabbing his head and jerking it back to expose his neck. Everyone else POV: "... what the slag's he doin?" asks a very confused prisoner in the cell across from Blast OFf. Blast Off shudders with horror as what's left of the femme slides off him, squicked out and nauseous to his very core as the fluids bleed into his own. Then they pin him down, and this isn't anything like that LAST time someone pinned him down. No, there's nothing about this that he wants... nothing at all in any way whatsoever. He finally cries out, "What do you WANT?!!?" before making another strangled cry as the thug grabs his throat. Blast Off's POV: Goon #1 narrows his optics, holding back #4 who had just begun to press in against Blast Off's neck with that scalpel. This *has* to be real because the shuttle can feel the heat, pain and stinging of the tool! Or so that's what Feint's hallucenation is telling his sensors. "See? Was that so hard?" Goon #1 asks as he pushes #4 back. The pain begins to subside. "I wanna know how you went from workin' for Proteus to slummin' it up with Cons. /Dish/, shuttle, or my buddy here's gonna give you some optic surgery, one at a time, -nice and slow-." Everyone else POV: Feint lowers her wings, slightly. The other prisoners are looking disturbed by all this. "... what the frag's she doin?" "I dunno mech, but this is some fraged-up slag right here." Blast Off is frozen now- frozen in terror, in pain, in shame, and still desperately clinging to some semblence of dignity... though that is probably long gone. He doesn't whimper or whine, but his ventilation systems are in overdrive as he tries to keep himself as calm as he can. He stares up as the "Enforcer" speaks, and the shuttle blurts out what he knows. He keeps it as succinct as possible, not saying anything he doesn't *have* to.... but he tells the Enforcer what he wants to know, wing elevons twitching occasionally in nervous, spastic energy. As soon as Blast Off has finished talking, it's all over. Abruptly. No more enforcers, no more torture, mechfluid, corpses, none of any of it -- he's just bent over in his own cell, and there, on the other side is Feint, standing with her hands folded together. It's as if time rewound itself. "I'm sorry that had to happen, but I didn't know any other way to get you to just tell me the truth," she says very politely. "I'm going to have them send down a bottle of gold reserve enerwine, something you like, for all your trouble. Perhaps something nice to listen to as well. I'll be back if I need anything else. Please, next time... just answer me when I ask you a question." She turns and leaves him there on the floor of his cell, walking down the hall. Blast Off slowly comes to... and... and... He blinks and looks around. Wait, what? He's crumpled against the floor and... he jerks back in shock as suddenly Feint is standing RIGHT THERE, alive again, there are NO Enforcers, no fluids, no death, no horrors... just the small, quiet femme looking calmly at him. The shuttleformer just stares at her, still trying to process all this. He has no words... none at all. The Combaticon watches her leave, then slowly pushes himself up, where he lies against the wall, exhausted, freaked out, struggling for control... and tries to figure out what the slag just happened to him. And right now, he can't stop staring at those walls.... because they aren't just closing in- they've already crashed down all around him.